


Elf Licker

by Backne



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, drunken dares, elf licking, one-sided handers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4389707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backne/pseuds/Backne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a request for Fenhawke Week based on my tumblr url elf-licker. "Actual elf licking. Hawke takes a drunken dare to lick one of Fenris' lyrium lines and report if it tastes like blueberry or electrocution." -zephiraz</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elf Licker

"You have a little crush on Fenris, don't you, Hawke?" Isabela asked, holding her fourth shot of whiskey loosely in one hand. Hawke looked up at her from over the brim of his mug.

"Am I that obvious?" He asked, smiling at her as he took a drink.

"Only to the trained eye. It's how you look at him, really. Every time he so much as opens his mouth, he's got your whole attention. You sit perky like a trained Orlesian poodle," she noted with a girlish giggle, even higher than usual as the alcohol set to work on her. "It's sort of cute, actually."

"You insult my pride as a Ferelden. I am a mabari hound if anything," Hawke sniffed in mock offense, taking another swill of ale. "It’s really a shame that he harbors such...strong feelings where magic is concerned. It’s a bit of a deal breaker all things considered.” He jabbed a thumb behind him at the staff strapped across his back. “The only reason he’s stuck around this long is because he thinks he owes me.”

"I wouldn't say that," Isabela tutted and wagged a finger at the mage as she tipped back her shot. "Mmm. See, I think he likes you, too." Hawke's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he leaned closer to her without even realizing it.

"Really now?"

"Oh definitely. I've caught him sneaking glances at you with that pinched, brooding look he always has on his face, but he won't come to you, not yet anyway. If you want a shot with him it's going to be a lot of work on your part. He likes to play hard to get--I can tell you that much from personal experience. Persistence is key, though, so don't think that just because you've got an edge on me that I’ll give up so easily. I'm a real sucker for the ones with a dark past." The pirate winked at him cheekily and waved Norah over for another shot. Hawke let out a goodnatured chuckled.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. An unexpected hand on his shoulder caused him to tense, but when he turned his head it was just Anders that had come to stand beside him.

"You should come play a game of Wicked Grace with us while I still have some coin left. Varric taught that sour elf how to play and now he's bleeding us all dry," the mage said, gently squeezing Hawke's shoulder as he smiled.

"Oh, I want to play!" Isabela chimed in, and Anders cut his eyes at her.

"Absolutely not. Last time I played with you I caught you cheating," he accused. The pirate rolled her eyes.

"Fine then, I'll look over Hawke's shoulder while he plays, spoil sport," she huffed, pooching out her plump bottom lip.

"Alright, have Varric deal me in and I'll be there shortly," the mage said and Anders beamed, letting his warm palm slide part way down Hawke's bicep before letting it fall away. The rogue snorted and leaned forward when the blond was out of earshot.

"Fenris is a challenge, but I'm sure if you gave Anders the time of day, he wouldn't hesitate to fall to his knees and--"

"No." Hawke said flatly, shaking his head as he finished the last of his ale before standing up to join the others. "He's a good man and a good friend, but nothing more."

"Alright, it was just a suggestion," Isabela said, raising her palms in the air. The two of them made their way to one of the hexagonal tables where the dwarf was busy shuffling cards.

"Blondie finally convinced you to join us, eh Hawke?" He commented as Anders scooted aside to allow Hawke space between Varric and himself while Isabela pulled up a chair behind him. She crossed her arms atop the backrest and set her chin down atop her knuckles so she could clearly see between the pair of mages. Fenris glanced up from his own mug, seated diagonally from Hawke and peering at him through his long white fringe. The Ferelden offered him a warm little smile in return, but then those big, pretty green eyes flickered to Anders, and they narrowed to slits before he turned his head to study something behind him.

"I'm beginning to think I've made a big mistake teaching Broody how to play--he's all but handed our asses to us on a silver platter. If he keeps this up, all of our coin purses will be empty before long."

"He is quite good, I'm afraid," Merrill chipped in with a sheepish smile, and to the warrior's credit he refrained from making any hateful remarks.

"If I didn't know any better I'd swear he was cheating, but then it was you who taught him and not the pirate after all," Aveline remarked, and then Varric began dealing. Hawke set a few silver pieces down in front of him and looked back over his shoulder in time to catch Isabela cradling her heart and furrowing her eyebrows as if her integrity had been wounded.

"Easy, big girl, I'm sitting this one out."

The game began and the Ravaini rogue scooted closer so that her chair bumped into his. She leaned in and rested her cheek on his shoulder as she studied his cards.

"That’s not a bad hand,” she commented and the mage hummed his agreement; he already had two matching suits. The game proceeded and cards were drawn and discarded, more rounds ordered, both Hawke and Fenris’s mugs refilled twice before Merrill happened to draw the Angel of Death. To everyone’s surprise it was Aveline who won. There was a clank of coin and a few grumbles from around the table as the redheaded warrior lifted her chin high, beaming triumphantly at her companions.

“Who’s up for another game?” Varric asked as he began gathering up the cards again.

“That’s all for me. I’m going to leave while I’m still ahead,” Aveline announced as she scooted away from the table. “And I’ve got guard duty in the morning.”

“Perfect! Deal me in, then!” Isabela cheered, using Hawke’s study frame as a handhold to help her stand up. Had it not been for her experienced sea legs, she surely would’ve fallen. However, she did catch her toe on the leg of her chair, falling forward half a foot before catching herself again on the burly mage, bumping her breasts right up against the back of his head. He laughed into his mug as ale sloshed up into his beard, dampening his mustache and a small amount splashing up into his nose. The dwarf gave a hoot as the others laughed, and even Fenris allowed himself a chuckle that Hawke caught him trying to hide behind his gauntlet. The female warrior gave a disdainful sigh and rolled her eyes before taking her leave.

Before she left to take Aveline’s seat beside Fenris, she squeezed the mage’s chorded bicep through his robes and leaned down, her ample chest pressing firmly into his shoulderblades. He wasn’t sure whether it was intentional or not.

“Hey, how's about we make this a little more interesting, hm?" She whispered, her breath warm tickling the outside of his ear and causing the hairs on the nape of his neck to prickle. He could smell the whiskey on her breath, but then his probably didn't smell much better. He half turned his head towards her.

"That depends. What did you have in mind?" He murmured.

"If you beat Fenris, I dare you to lick one of his tattoos. Anywhere you like," she purred. Hawke grunted.

“And if you win?”

“Then I get to see how far those tattoos go down.” She chuckled lustily into his ear, and his guts clenched for a split second.

"I really like having my heart in my chest, where it belongs. So should you.”

"Oh come on, Hawke, don't you want to know what they taste like? What he tastes like?" She husked. Hawke bit the inside of his cheek as he chanced a glimpse of the warrior, who was hunched forward and leaning heavily onto his forearms. He had the barest hint of a smile gracing his lips, his gaze softer than usual, but his shoulders were tense and his pointed ears stiff as always. Even when he was relaxed he was still on guard, ever mindful of his surroundings.

Temptation was like a sweet itch at the edge of Hawke’s better judgement. Of course he wanted to taste Fenris; he wanted to taste every part of him, not just his markings. He’d been fantasizing about pressing his mouth to every last inch of scarred, tan skin almost every night before bed since the former slave had decided to tag along with his mismatched party of assholes. And he really did not like the idea of Isabela putting her mouth on the warrior in his stead….

“You two better not be whispering dirty tricks to each other,” Anders groused.

“We would never,” Isabela chortled. “Such mistrust with you lot. So what do you say, poodle boy?” She asked as she righted herself, straightening her form fitting tunic across her front lest one of the girls jump ship.

“I’ll do it. But you better get me good and drunk first,” he acquiesced. His conscience chided him for even considering accepting the pirate’s lecherous proposal; Fenris was not a piece of meat to be won. But he was a grown man after all, not a young maiden with fragile sensibilities. Besides, what was a little lick on the arm in comparison with Isabela trying to get down the front of his tight leather pants?

“You’ll do what?” Merrill asked, big glittering eyes darting up from her hand as she rearranged her cards between her fingers.

“Never you mind, Kitten,” Isabella cooed. The elf heaved a disappointed sigh, her ears visibly drooping. The pirate’s pout had nothing on the little blood mage’s sad puppy dog gaze.

“You never let me in on the dirty jokes, Isabela.”

“It’s better that way, trust me.” Varric chuckled.

While Isabela ordered Hawke another mug of ale, he noticed the dwarf looked about ready to deal. He cleared his throat to snag his attention.

“Allow me--your fingers must be getting terribly calloused from all that shuffling.” He offered an outstretched hand, smiling mischieviously at his friend. The rogue quirked one of his thick brows at him, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as he slapped the deck into the mage’s palm.

“Bianca and I are so grateful for your consideration,” he jested, touching his fingers to his heart.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I would not want to see what you do with that crossbow of yours behind closed doors, Varric,” Fenris chimed in, shaking his head slowly as he took a drink of his ale. It was the first time he’d spoken since Hawke joined them.

“I’m sure it’s something that would surely make Andraste cry.” Hawke grinned, meeting the elf’s eyes as Isabela took her place next to him. He didn’t miss the smirk of amusement the remark earned him, and his heart fluttered as he busied his fingers shuffling, tongue swiping across his own dry lips as he struggled to avert his gaze before he found himself outright ogling his teammate. The last thing he needed was to give the observant pirate any more reason to tease him, and she was in the perfect spot to spectate his drunken gawking.

But the Maker must surely have known by then how badly he ached to kiss that smug, mage-hating bastard breathless. Not to mention his slight competitive streak, and those two things combined was motivation enough to spurn him into cheating. He began dealing when he noticed Anders repositioning himself in his seat out of the corner of his eye, bumping their knees together as the side of his thigh came to rest against Hawke’s. The larger man paused for a split second as a result but decided to keep his own leg still, hoping not to make the situation awkward by scooting away lest the other man decide to leave the game and ruin his plan. Well, he might have botched it already considering he was getting clumsier by the minute, vision growing choppier with each sip of ale, but it was worth a try to keep Isabela from trying to bump uglies with the object of his affection. 

“That should do it,” Hawke announced, picking up his cards and tapping them against the table--not too shabby, but there was still opportunity enough for someone to get the upper hand, especially if the pirate had at least a shred of coherence left. By the looks of her though, she didn’t, but he knew better than to underestimate her.

He watched as Fenris’s sharp-tipped gauntlet reached out to slide his cards closer, studying them with an critical eye but otherwise unreadable expression. The warrior was continuing to nurse his drink when he caught the mage staring again and offered him a quizzical look. Next he turned his attention to Isabela and found her smiling as she swayed in place, potentially an important tell... but then she was always smiling when she wasn’t being scolded. To his left Varric looked rather content, and to his right Anders appeared to be calm on the outside, but had started bouncing the leg not touching him up and down in a nervous fashion. Merrill, however, was visibly worried as she chewed her bottom lip and muttered soft little “oh’s” under her breath.

“You’re an open book, sweet thing” Isabella said, reaching out to pat the blood mage’s skinny arm.

Hawke realized he’d drawn the warrior’s interest with all his poorly concealed peeping, and could feel Fenris watching him as they played until he began to feel nervous that the warrior was onto him. But for some reason or another, the decidedly shrewd elf made no move to call him out on it. That time it was Varric who drew the Angel of Death, and it was Fenris who won. He was sporting an arrogant smirk once more as he laid his hand out on the table for the others to see, looking quite pleased when the other players bowed their heads in defeat and relinquished their coin to him.

“That’s it, I’m out,” Anders blustered and got to his feet in a hurry. “I don’t even know why I stuck around this long, you’ve damn near cheated me out of what little coin I’ve got!”

“I know why,” Isabella responded coyly, winking at Hawke. She lifted one loosely held fist to her mouth in a jerking motion and stuck her tongue in her cheek, causing him to cover his face and groan, thankful the healer didn’t notice.

“I didn’t need to cheat in order to best you, mage. It would take a drunken fool not to take notice of all your fidgeting,” he growled, upper lip curling over his teeth. Anders stepped forward and took a deep breath, already prepared to jab an accusatory finger in the warrior’s face. He was about to let Fenris have it when Hawke slammed both hands down on the tabletop and stood up in a rush, sending his chair skittering across the wooden floor and toppling over.

“I’m quite drunk and I’ve got to take a piss, who’s going to come out back with me to make sure I don’t get mugged with my pants down?” Hawke asked loudly, booming over the two men and half of the tavern. A few people turned to look at him and then Varric started to laugh, effectively diffusing the situation.

“Get any on my new boots and I’ll shoot you in the ass,” Varric said as he pocketed the deck of cards and got to his feet, turning to the others as they began to leave. “Well Blondie’s out, what about you two? Once Hawke’s done taking a tinkle, of course,” He added.

“I’ve got nowhere to be, why not?” Isabela said, looking from one elf to the other.

“I’ll watch Isabela this time around,” Merrill said, picking fretfully through her coin purse. Either Hawke or Varric would need to give her a few silver pieces before the night was through; it was easy to forget the naive little Dalish would gamble away almost everything she had just so she would be included when everyone got together.

“Broody?”

“If Hawke stays I will play one more game, but after that I am finished for tonight. I need to leave you with at least a few silver to pay for your room, after all, Varric,” Fenris responded nonchalantly, dusting off the front of his tunic.

Merrill and Isabela both “oh’d” loudly but the dwarf dismissed him with a roll of his eyes. “You’re getting awfully cocky, elf.”

“Varric, I really wasn’t joking,” Hawke muttered, tugging at the front of his pants and shuffling his feet.

“Alright, alright, let’s go,” the rogue followed him out to the alley on the left side of the tavern, standing a few feet away with his back to the mage as he kept watch. Hawke bunched up his robes in a tightly clenched fist and rested his forehead heavily against the wall in front of him for balance, letting out a loud sigh as he relieved himself on the pavement. It was a good thing Aveline had left earlier or he’d be getting an earful for sure.

“Y’know, now that I think about, I could’ve taken you up to my room. There’s a chamberpot up there,” Varric noted.

“I don’t know if I could’ve made it up the stairs, to be quite honest with you,” Hawke muttered.

“Good point. You are indeed pretty sloshed, my friend, but it was a nice touch announcing the call of nature to avoid making a scene. You know that I’m not going to let you live that down for a while, though, right?” He chuckled.

“Fair enough.” The mage fastened his trousers again and let go of his robes, staggering somewhat when he pushed off from the wall. Varric reached up and laid a hand across his lower back to steady him.

“Whoa there. And I can’t believe you tried to bamboozle us all back there. If Revaini wasn’t already piss drunk she would’ve saw it too. Mages shouldn’t even attempt that shit sober--I’m shocked I’m the only one that noticed.” Hawke blinked and looked down at him in surprise as he took an unsteady step in the direction of the tavern’s front door.

“You noticed?”

“Of course I did. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure Fenris did, too.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured you had your reasons for trying. I noticed you and the pirate whispering to each other and I wanted to see what would happen. So far you’re both just disappointing me.” He said airily, crossing his arms over his thick carpet of exposed chest hair.

“Isabela made a bet with me, but that was in the event that one of us actually won,” Hawke clarified as they went inside. 

“Do tell,” the rogue responded, but the Ferelden was distracted when he noticed Fenris standing at the bar, presumably ordering another drink with his winnings. Isabela was next to him, half-perched on a stool with another shot of whiskey (he’d lost count how many she’d had since the night began), slathering on her hedonistic charms. He barely caught the end of her story as he was sidling up alongside the elf.

“...and that’s why I’ll never get drunk with another Orlesian for as long as a I live,” she concluded. “Oh, Hawke, you’re back. Feel better now?”

“Quite. Shall we?” He gestured toward their designated table, where for some reason or other Anders had reseated himself.

“I thought you’d had enough of Broody’s slanderous ways,” Varric teased as he sat down.

“I thought I’d stay and watch, see how things panned out,” the mage responded lightly, turning to look at Hawke. “Maybe you can win back some of my coin for me.” He had that painfully hopeful look on his face again, and Hawke figured that was probably how must appear to Isabela fluttering his eyes at Fenris all night long. The pirate pushed off from her stool and circled in front, stopping him a few feet short of reaching the others.

“This is the decider, eh?” She grinned up at him, her fingers lightly tracing figure-eights against his clothed chest. Maker, he did not understand the woman at all.

“What happens if neither of us win? We haven’t been especially lucky as of yet.”

“Then it’s whoever gets to him first.”

“Ah.” He nodded once and flounced down in his seat, Varric reaching out to catch him by the arm and steady him before he fell on the floor. Anders gave his knee a light pat. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The dwarf shuffled and began dealing for himself, the two humans and Fenris. Hawke’s vision was so blurry that he had to crane his neck and squint at what he was holding to make sense of it. His left eye slid shut of its own accord and his tongue poked out with the effort of concentrating. He had a single matching suit; Serpents. Uh-oh.

Anders leaned close and studied his hand, and Hawke could feel the other mage’s warmth rolling against him despite the alcohol in his system. Surprisingly the man didn’t smell that bad for living in the squalor of Darktown. As he played, he chanced a peek at the warrior again, surprised to find him looking straight back at him, his green irises with their large, almost feline pupils as piercing as ever. He took a slow gulp of ale and held Hawke's gaze almost as if challenging him, daring him to watch the muscles in his throat flex as his adam’s apple bobbed under supply flesh. Then suddenly Norah was pushing her way between Anders and himself, setting down another mug of ale in front of him.

“I didn’t order another,” Hawke slurred, blinking his right eye and then his left as he tilted his head up at her.

“Your tattooed friend over there ordered a round for the whole table,” she said, setting down a second one in front of Anders before moving on to serve Varric and Merrill.

“Oh, how nice! Thank you, Fenris!” Merrill chirruped excitedly, picking her mug up with both hands and taking a sip. Froth clung to her upper lip as she squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth puckered, smacking at the bitterness while the two rogues cackled and played their turns.

“Buying a drink for me with my own coin, how thoughtful,” Anders sneered and pushed it away with his index finger. The warrior either didn't hear or chose to ignore him.

Hawke wrapped his fingers around the ale, lifting the mug into the air to show his appreciation. Fenris mimicked the gesture and they both took a drink. The hairy mage drew the Angel of Death his very next turn and everyone laid out their cards. Varric won.

“Ahh, well then. I guess I haven’t totally lost my touch,” the dwarf concluded, and Hawke flicked him a silver piece, which he caught midair. They all began getting to their feet, Varric preparing to escort Merrill back to the alienage while Isabela turned to Fenris. Anders cleared his throat at Hawke’s side to get his attention but the other Ferelden didn’t even turn his head, reaching out to guide the other mage out of his way and patting his chest a little more roughly than he intended to.

“Give me a moment Anders, I need to have a word with Fenris,” he muttered. He started making his way to the pair in a not so graceful fashion, nearly tripping on a loose floorboard and catching himself on the edge of the table as he went.

“So I was thinking that you and I should take some time to really get to know each other, Fenris. I have a room upstairs--” Isabela began, leaning in close and reaching out to cup the elf’s wiry, lyrium marked bicep where the skin was exposed.

“Ah, Fenris. That was a good game, wasn’t it?” Hawke interrupted, balancing his weight shakily with one arm. His eyes flickered between the rogue and the warrior while Isabela simpered. The elf turned to face him, blinking in surprise. 

“Yes,” he agreed. There was a brief, awkward lull in which he could practically feel the rogue restraining her laughter.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got all those pockets on your belt, or else I don’t know how you’d get all that coin back to the mansion!”

Fenris looked down at his belt and patted one of the bulging leather pouches. “Hear that, Varric?” 

“Don’t encourage him, Hawke,” Varric reprimanded. “No man has any business having that many pockets on his belt when I can’t even talk him into holding onto a few things for me.” 

“As I was saying,” Isabela began again, reaching out and taking one of the elf's pointy gauntlets. Hawke grimaced, and in his drunken stupor, reached out to take the other one. The other three remaining companions paused to watch, Merrill peering at them with clasped hands while Varric crossed his arms again. Anders was frowning so deeply that his forehead creased.

“I was wondering if we could have a word, in private, if you don’t mind?” The mage jerked his chin in the direction of the bar where they could get away from the others’ direct influence. The elf shrugged in the pirate's direction before retracting his hands from their grip and turning his attention fully to the Ferelden.

“Please excuse me,” he said curtly and followed the mage to a slightly quieter section of the room. “Yes, Hawke?”

The large human fumbled for words. Should he just lift Fenris’s arm and lick it, get it over with? Should he ask for permission first? Or should he ditch the plan all together and let Fenris decide for himself whether or not he wanted to knock boots with the pirate? There was no guarantee Isabela wouldn’t go right back to trying to haul the elf up to her room for the night once he’d gone through with the dare. His heart might actually stay intact (both figuratively and physically) if he gave up and left. He was already going to have a wicked hangover in the morning after guzzling all that pig piss swill the The Hanged Man called ale. All the while he was deliberating, Fenris was waiting, ears pricked forward and watching him expectantly with those glittering, mossy eyes, dilated from the dim lighting of the tavern.

“I just wanted to...properly thank you. For the ale. It was very generous of you,” Hawke said slowly. The elf was standing so close he could smell the leather of his armor, the spice of his skin, and the earthy-salt smell of lyrium despite the stink of piss and vomit that permeated the building.

“It was nothing,” Fenris dismissed, turning his head away and reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Hawke couldn't tell if it was out of shyness or actual discomfort. “Was that all you wished to say or...?”

“No, no. I--” he really had no idea what was about to come out of his mouth when suddenly he was bumped from behind, presumably by another drunken patron, sending him stumbling into Fenris. If he were sober he might’ve been able to catch himself, but instead his sternum smacked hard against the metal breastplate protecting the warrior’s chest. The elf caught him under the arms before he could take them both down, and he landed perfectly so that he was eye-level with that long, slender neck. White tattoos stood in stark contrast against gorgeous bronzed flesh, the lyrium beneath causing the magic in his blood to itch within his veins. It was now or never.

Before the elf could shove him away, he lifted his head slightly and extended his tongue, swiping the tip of it against one of the rightmost offshoots stemming from the the central line traveling up Fenris’s throat. It touched against warm, smooth skin, and almost instantly the end of his tongue began to tingle. He was reminded of the electric buzz he felt when casting a lightning chain, except focused in his mouth, and much milder. It was not an unpleasant sensation, and had he not been drunk, it might have elicited a more full-body response.

And then he was being lifted onto his feet like an oversized child, not roughly, but the grip on his upper arms was most definitely firm. It was the first time Fenris had ever touched him purposely, and Maker was he strong for such a slim frame. Fenris could easily manhandle him, and that fact sent a zing down his spine and a mild throb in his groin.

“Did you just lick me?” Fenris scoffed, looking more incredulous than scandalized. 

“I um.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, sorry. Must've had my mouth open when I fell.”

He blinked several times, swaying where he stood, waiting for Fenris to plunge a glowing fist right through his ribcage, but it didn’t come. Instead the elf reached out to steady him, allowing himself a huff of laughter.

“Perhaps they should take you outside and hang you by your feet until you sober.” With that he wiped his neck and moved away, past the gawking blood mage and the smug dwarf, who had finally figured it all out. Anders was already leaving ahead of him, and Hawke wondered vaguely if this was going to cause a problem between them later on.

Hawke turned and saw Isabella standing behind him as she posed herself against the rickety bartop, smiling wickedly. He frowned at her.

"You pushed me, didn't you?" He grumbled.

"You needed it, trust me. Watching you struggle was downright painful," she admonished with a flick of her wrist. "So, how was it? What did he taste like? Don't spare any details since you weren't about to let me have a go."

He thought about telling her it was like licking a vein of lyrium, but then he doubted that as rogue she'd even have anything to compare that to. "Like electricity. And my tongue is still tingling."

**Author's Note:**

> I really made an effort at using humor. Did it work?


End file.
